


When Light Fills the Sky, We Cower in the Dark

by smallsteps32



Series: The Other Side [3]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallsteps32/pseuds/smallsteps32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of my Deborah Richardson series<br/>As the biggest storm of the year hits Fitton, the crew of MJN wait for it to pass, and cope in their own ways; after all, thunder and lightning can incite joy, fear, and love for those that aren't there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Light Fills the Sky, We Cower in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my 'On the Other Side' Series, but it isn't an interlude, as it fits in between bits I've already written, and because, as you will see, the narrative is different  
> It's a one-shot basically
> 
> Please do enjoy

**Arthur**

Even though he should probably have been thinking about turning in for the night, about trying to get some sleep before tomorrow’s flight, Arthur was wide awake; the sky was dark, but every now and then it would light up in a flash, followed almost immediately by an ear-splitting, roaring rumble that he imagined made the house shake from its foundations.

The brief spurt of rain earlier in the day had been disappointing, as they’d only been given one flash of thunder before his mum had deemed it clear to drive home from the airfield, but the day had really resurrected itself in the form of _this_ storm. Lightning was so much better in the dark.

Arthur was sprawled on the sofa next to the widest window in their sitting room, having thrown the curtains open to allow a better view; Mum was in the other room, wandering about the house, annoyed that she wouldn’t be able to go to sleep even if she tried, but not scared, so he didn’t have to worry about her tonight.

Another flash arced across the sky, and Arthur only just caught it out of the corners of his eyes, inwardly scolding himself for missing it again as the crashing rang in his ears, louder even than the buckets of rain that pelted the roof, the windows, anything that they could, making him feel wet even when he was tucked up inside.

Never mind, he thought, next time; next time he would be prepared. Arthur lifted his phone into the air, making sure that his hand was held steady with a determination that fuelled most of his endeavours; he _would_ catch a picture of the lightning painting forks across the sky. Just as soon as his reaction time sped up a bit.

It was fair to say that Arthur _loved_ lightning storms; they were brilliant, in every way. They had become even more brilliant once he had convinced Deborah to explain how they worked. Arthur hadn’t remembered the first time, so he had asked again, years ago; apparently she too had forgotten that she had already explained it, so she laid it all out for him. And then again the next time.

But eventually Arthur understood it, and the science just made it even more amazingly beautiful. Deborah had explained how everything was made of pluses and minuses (which Arthur vaguely remembered already learning in school), even clouds and the ground, and that the minuses could move because they were…electric? Electrodes?...Electrons! That was it, electrons; Arthur recalled likening them to the name of a robot, because robots were electrical as well.

And then it was like magic, but scientific. Just like with magnets, the electrons wanted to be with the pluses, and when it go really hot, like in the summer, the electrons in the ground and the clouds would try to jump to the pluses on the other side – and then _LIGHTNING!_

The crash came almost in the same moment as the flash this time, and though Arthur jumped, it was more from frustration than shock; he’d missed it again! Maybe if he kept his thumb over the shutter button, he’d be ready to snap a picture…

Arthur startled at the sound of the sitting room door clicking open behind him; thunder he was prepared for, but he had almost forgotten that there were other sounds around him as well. He turned slightly to peer over his shoulder, only to see his mother striding irritably into the room, holding her own phone aloft, waving her arm as of trying to catch flies, though Arthur knew that she was searching for a signal.

“You alright Mum?” Arthur inquired, aiming for nonchalance; the crinkled edge to her face, the stiffness of her limbs, and the agitated set of her jaw were all signs that she was preoccupied, and annoyed, and might not be open to communication.

“Yes of course I’m alright.” Carolyn snapped, before shaking her head and exhaling through her nose; Arthur waited for her to allow herself to steady her patience before interrogating her further, “I’m just at the end of my rope trying to find a bloody signal – I had two bars in the kitchen just now, and then they just disappeared!”

“Oh, you should try standing in my room,” Arthur suggested brightly, turning away from the window just as another flash and crash illuminated the sky and momentarily through juxtaposed shadows across the room; he didn’t mind though, as he was being helpful, and there would be more, “I always get signal in there.”

“Thank you dear,” Carolyn sighed, grimacing to herself and lowering her arm, giving the phone one last shake, “Although I’d rather spend as little time as possible in your room.” she looked up, and finally took the time to examine her son, sprawled on the sofa with his hand still aloft and pointing at the window even though his head was turned towards her, “What are doing?”

“I’m trying to catch a good picture of the lightning.” Arthur explained, his lips stretching into an excited grin; he still didn’t doubt that he’d get one eventually, and even if he didn’t, at least he had had fun staying up to watch the storm, “The only thing is, it’s taking a while, because I can’t press the button quickly enough.”

Carolyn groaned in exasperation and shook her head, rolling her eyes, but she wandered across the room to stand beside the sofa; Arthur shifted his arm so that she could peer at the little screen, only to miss another flash.

“Have you considered simply filming the storm and then going through the footage second by second on the computer?” Carolyn suggested dismissively, stepping back and turning her attention back to her own phone, which merely bleeped pathetically.

“I hadn’t!” Arthur exclaimed, eyes widening and face lighting up in thrilled realisation; he quickly set about changing his phone’s settings, while his mother walked towards the door to the hall, “Thanks Mum…that’ll be much easier actually.”

Carolyn hummed in acknowledgement, but didn’t hang around to find out whether her son could capture the perfect moment; the door fell shut behind her just as a roar tore through the air, and Arthur hastily scrambled to his knees, getting his camera ready, not minding the chance to grasp just a tiny bit more concentration.

Arthur was about to press the film button when he sat back on his heels far enough that the little screen was filled with the night sky and the orange glow from the street lights, but paused as a thought occurred; with a small grin, he quickly fired off a text, and then got back to the job on hand.

At this rate, he might even get to go to bed before it got light outside.

oOoOoOo

**Carolyn**

Arthur’s room made even more of a racket than the rest of the house. True, he had been correct in saying that there was signal, but it also seemed that the majority of Fitton’s rain was concentrating on thudding relentlessly against his window.

But it served its purpose, so Carolyn leaned against the wall beside the window, praying that the dial tone didn’t drop like it had the last time she had called, and waited for the call to either connect or be left unanswered.

A flash lit up the room, casting her shadow like a grotesque facsimile of herself, and Carolyn nearly cursed as the crackling in her ear grew a little more echoing and a tired voice filtered down the line; she’d be glad to see the back of the bloody weather. If things didn’t calm down they’d have to cancel the flight tomorrow.

 _“Hello, Herc Shipwright.”_ The voice announced expectantly, if not faintly over the peripheral fuzz that Carolyn assumed was rain on his end; she’d never admit it, but after an hour and a half, she was relieved to hear his voice.

“Yes, I _know_ who it is.” Carolyn retorted, squaring her shoulders indignantly even though she knew that he couldn’t see her; now that she knew that he hadn’t crashed his car on the way back home, there was no need to let Herc know that she had been worried, “I was the one who called you.”

“ _Carolyn! This is a nice surprise…”_ Herc drawled, though he wasn’t fooling anyone; his voice was laced with pleasant surprise, and a slither of confusion that gave Carolyn an inch of hope, “ _I can’t have left yours more than two hours ago; do you need something?”_

“I had something to ask you, but I’ve completely forgotten what it was.” Carolyn snapped weakly, rapping her fingers against the back of the phone and railing against the smarm in his tone even as another clap of thunder muffled her words; he definitely didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing why she was actually calling, “That’s what happens when you take too long to answer the phone.”

“ _Oh, I apologise,”_ Herc replied, and the eye roll was almost tangible through the phone, “ _I was in the car, and since then my phone line’s been down. It’s only working now because the storm’s heading towards you –_ oh…”

“No, not ‘ _oh’_ ,” Carolyn corrected him haughtily, but there was no arguing with Herc when he got started; this had been a ridiculous idea to begin with, she should have come up with a better excuse, one that wouldn’t give him the opportunity to gloat down the phone under the guise of soppiness, “There’s no ‘ _oh_ ’ about this.”

“ _You know, if you were worried about me getting caught in the storm, you could simply tell me; I won’t be insulted, I_ might _even be flattered.”_ Herc told her gently; Carolyn felt herself mellowing in response, and sighed heavily, shutting her eyes when another flash caused her to blink too hard and press the phone closer to her ear to be able to hear him properly; there was a pause, and then Herc continued, “ _The drive back was fine, a bit windy, but you know what they say; a car’s the safest place to be in a storm. Something about rubber wheels.”_

“Well, good, I’m glad.” Carolyn replied, turning her head to scowl at the window when a particularly vicious surge of water slammed into the pane; the damned weather was causing too many problems, and that was without considered what would happen if it persisted until the next day, “But that doesn’t mean that I was worried about your drive home. I was just in need of information, but as I’ve forgotten, it can’t have been that important.”

 _“Alright, but I’m still grateful.”_ Herc placated; Carolyn heard a rustling on the other end of the phone, and assumed that he was settling down in his own sitting room, safe and comfortable at home, but plagued just like the rest of them by the storm that she could hear howling from his end, a second out of sync with hers, “ _So, I looked at the news when I got in, and it doesn’t look like the weather’s going to ease off; it doesn’t look like you’ll be flying tomorrow.”_

“No…I’m going to get them all in the porta-cabin before I make a decision though.” Carolyn muttered, quirking her eyebrows and settling back against the wall, which was still vibrating slightly from the force of the last clap of thunder, “Although the chances of me getting two words out before Martin refuses to fly in dangerous conditions are slim to none; not that I would let them, but it would be nice to be able to _tell_ them rather than be _told_.”

“ _Are they overreaching their authority again?”_ Herc inquired sardonically, chuckling slightly; Carolyn could just imagine him smirking as he teased her, and she was caught between wanting to wipe the smile of his face, and appreciating having someone to enjoy joking with.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Carolyn remarked, exhaling in good humour as another crash filled the air; she didn’t quite jump at the flash of light, “More that they’re forgetting _mine_. Honestly, last week I gave them the remnants of an experimental banana cake I made for Arthur’s birthday, and Deborah had the audacity to ask me to make _more_ just for her and Martin _._ ”

“ _The audacity.”_ Herc repeated sarcastically, _“Anyone would think you provided their jobs, their rooms, their food, and the money they use to buy those things for themselves.”_ He chuckled, but when Carolyn only replied with an annoyed huff, he continued, “ _You can’t really blame them for thinking that everything they have comes from you.”_

“I’m not their mother.” Carolyn stated firmly; it was getting harder to hear what Herc was saying, as the crackling in her ear was growing more intermittent, and if anything, the raging outside was still rising in intensity, hammering against all four walls of the house, “Well, now that I know there’s nothing wrong with your phone, I’ll leave you to yourself.”

 _“Alright, Carolyn.”_ Herc replied, his voice dropping as he resigned himself, “ _Stay safe.”_

“Oh, now, stop that.” Carolyn scolded him lightly; she heard Herc scoff on the other end, but then the line cut off, and he was gone.

Carolyn lowered the phone and slipped it into her pocket; there was hardly time for her to mull over the conversation, as the air crashed, and then seconds later another flash burned into the room, followed immediately by its own furious roar. She was almost glad that Arthur was enjoying herself, because she bloody well wasn’t.

oOoOoOo

**Deborah**

Being thrust into alertness after balancing on the precipice of sleep, bogged down by sublime, groggy and comfortable warmth, her mind focusing into a pinpoint of soft and steady relaxation, was horrible, and if Deborah hadn’t been confused and bewildered, she might have been furious.

One moment she had been falling into a drowsy sleep, and the next she was awake with the lurching and swooping sensation throttling her gut as if she had just been plucked from a drop off a cliff, and the next she had been awake and in complete darkness, while all around her the air was filled with a roaring, crashing, screaming that sounded as if millions of boulders were crashing and colliding and exploding together in the roar of a beast’s belly.

It took all of about thirty seconds for Deborah to realise that the world wasn’t in fact ending, but that the thunder storm that had made a brief appearance in the afternoon had come back with a vengeance; if she didn’t know any better, she’d have said that the storm was directly above the flat.

The next thing Deborah became aware of was the fact that she wasn’t in bed, but instead laid out on the sofa, curled up against Martin, who lay on his back, his arms around her keeping her steady as she shifted and squirmed into wakefulness; he was warm and comfortable, and she calmed quickly, reassured by the steady rumbling of his chest as he chuckled faintly, and the feeling of his hand stroking firmly against her back.

Another flash lit up the room, barely fading before another monstrous roar thundered around them, and Deborah only just stopped herself from jumping at the sound; it was scary, just startling, that was all. In response, Deborah nestled her head into the curve on Martin’s shoulder, resting her forehead against the bottom of his chin.

“I feel bad now.” Deborah grumbled softly, positive that Martin could hear her; she continued with a facsimile of a smile when he gave a questioning grunt, “When we had that four minute storm earlier today, I mocked it and said that it was the most pathetic storm I’ve ever seen…this is its revenge.”

“What?” Martin snorted, shifting as Deborah did the same, readjusting their position, which had become more tangled in the time that Deborah had been almost asleep, “You upset the little one, so it got its parents to come and bully you back?”

Deborah chuckled half-heartedly, but was cut off by a flash of light that snaked across the room, and a shattering crash which made her flinch imperceptibly, winding her arms more tightly around him.

“See, I told you it would have been a bad idea to drive home.” Deborah murmured, curling her fingers around the buttons along his shirt; all she wanted to do was go back to sleep, but she highly doubted that that was possible given that she jumped slightly at every flash and felt an uncomfortable ripple through her guts at each tumbling crash, “You might have crashed the van.”

“Hmmm, but that’s not why I’m glad I stayed.” Martin replied, his voice a low grumble as if he too had been on the edge of sleep; it was nice, relaxed and exactly the side of Martin that Deborah loved being around the most, but there was also a playful tinge to it as he made sure that his hands moved soothingly over her, keeping her in a loving embrace.

“How’d you mean?” Deborah asked dryly, lifting her head a fraction to run her eyes over his face, but snuggling down again when she was met only by his drowsy smile and foggy blue eyes, “Glad that you’re not all alone in the scary thunder storm?”

As she said it, another flash and smashing bellow simultaneously illuminated and suffocated the room, like bags of boulders smashing together, and Deborah flinched imperceptibly, her fingers clenching reflexively against Martin’s chest. Martin’s arms automatically tightened around her, and the gentle stroking continued.

“No of course not; I used to go camping with my Dad remember? Storms are nothing.” Martin assured her, taking his hand only fleetingly from her back to bat through the air, before his presence was once again there, constant and unwavering, “I meant, I’m glad that I’m here to look after _you_. I never knew you were scared of thunder storms – you never mentioned it when we see them on flights.”

“That’s because we fly _past_ them.” Deborah muttered, and then more loudly, cursing how she couldn’t make herself move from Martin’s embrace as another rumble sounded around them; despite all her best efforts, she really, _really_ , couldn’t stand the idea of being even an inch away from him in that moment, “And I’m not _scared_ , it’s just a little startling to wake up to such horrible noise.”

“Sure…” Martin retorted, the humour evident in his tone; Deborah didn’t deign to lift her head again, but she knew that the corners of his lips were curling up and the corners of his eyes were crinkling, thrilled as always to have one up on her, “Oh, by the way, you got a text about ten minutes ago. I took your phone from your pocket and checked for you.”

“Who the hell’s texting me at this time of night?” Deborah inquired, disgruntlement flying from her mind as annoyed bewilderment took its place, as is often the way when the brain isn’t yet fully functional, and all that one can think about is sleep and silence, two things that Deborah was getting none of.

“Arthur.” Martin said simply; when nothing else came Deborah made a small noise of curiosity, bumping the back of her knuckles against his shoulder, so he carried on drolly, “He texted ‘ _Brilliant storm’_. That was it, nothing else…which is about right coming from Arthur.”

Under the clamour of another flash and crash of thunder, and a particularly violent thrash of water against the far window, Deborah left it at that, and lay her head back down on his chest, listening to the sound of Martin breathing, in and out, a steady beat against the erratic racket outside. Except she couldn’t leave it there.

“I’m not scared.” Deborah muttered when Martin’s arms squeezed her waist lightly after another rumble, before his hands returned to track circles on her back; she was disconcerted, and not happy, but she refused to even consider fear over something so trivial, “So you can stop thinking whatever it is you’ve got in your head about being some sort of, of…”

“Knight in shining armour?” Martin suggested brightly; he shifted back slightly so that he could look down at her, bringing his chin in as she allowed her head to tip back, and their gazes to meet through the dark, “I’m quite enjoying looking after you for once, it’s nice.”

“Well stop it, because I’m not scared, and you’re not a knight of any sort.” Deborah scolded him, pouting her lips; although his hold didn’t waver, his hands stopped stroking down her back, and one slipped down her arm, resting there, leaving her feeling bereft, which only fuelled the sour irritation in her guts, “I _like_ storms, they’re interesting, they have an interesting science behind them, they’re fun to imagine, and to watch, and I…”

Martin held her gaze, his eyes boring into hers as one eyebrow rose; there was no doubt that he wasn’t buying a word that she said, and something about that made Deborah trail off, the defiance leeching from her veins like cement from a wall, leaving something, but not the fibre that held it together.

“I’m not scared…it’s just jarring, it startles me, and it’s loud.” Deborah explained quietly, laying her head back down, whether Martin wanted to look at her or not; it was best not, she thought, “The fact that I want to cuddle right now means nothing. I don’t need  a ‘knight’ to protect me from anything.”

“Fine…okay…” Martin agreed, his hands moving once more, slowly at first, then more smoothly, tracking circles into her back until the warmth in Deborah’s chest alit again, and even though she flinched at the smashing flash that tore through the air, Martin didn’t mention it, “I suppose I’m just so used to you being independent and self-sufficient, I was just enjoying getting to look after you like boyfriends – no, no forget that, I just…I don’t want you to be scared, I just, it was nice to imagine that you might _need_  me, and I liked being able to make you feel better, that’s all.”

“Martin, I _do_ need you.” The words slipped unbidden from Deborah’s tongue before she even knew that she was saying them; she shifted her hand to catch one of his, the one that was stretched across them, and curled her fingers around the wrist, “Look…thank you for staying.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Martin murmured; Deborah felt him shifting beneath her, slumping further into the sofa and snuggling until his chin was once more tucked over her head.

The discussion wasn’t over, but neither of them were willing to take it further; Deborah didn’t want to talk about her fears, or Martin’s self-esteem as her partner. It was painful, and she already gave him everything she had to offer anyway; she wasn’t going to make things uncomfortable by delving into her psyche.

She didn’t need to. Deborah knew, as another echoing, thundering clap sounded above them, that made the walls shiver, and she immediately squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on Martin’s chest rising beneath her cheek, that they were fine as they were.

oOoOoOo

**Martin**

When Martin dredged himself into the wakefulness of day, it was to find a bright sky, distorted by the rain that still sloshed against the windows, pattering and thudding; if he listened closely, he could just about hear a faint rumble that called out that it was no longer his problem.

Deborah was sound asleep on top of him, curled up in his arms, her own arms tucked into her chest; there were dark rings underneath her eyes from where she had stayed up hours into the night, but Martin couldn’t help but smile at how unguarded her expression was when she wasn’t awake to control it…not that she ever particularly good at that. Or maybe it was just that he had learn how to read past it when she did.

Carefully, making sure not to jostle her too much, Martin slipped from underneath her, gritting his teeth and moving slowly away from the sofa; confident that Deborah was still fast asleep, snuffling at the disruption, but otherwise unconscious, Martin tiptoed into the kitchen area.

Should he make a cup of coffee for himself and get her one later, or make both now and wake her up in good time for the job today?

He turned back to lean against the counter, propping himself up on his arms as he looked back into the sitting room, only to pause, as his eyes fell on Deborah once again; there was really no choice as to whether Martin was going to let her sleep, especially after last night.

She was so beautiful; that was one thing about Deborah that had never changed in Martin’s eyes, even now, as she lay almost foetal-like on the sofa, stray hair hanging over her face, her lips slightly pouting, her eyes soft beneath their lids, her chest rising and falling faintly, even when they had first met, and it had made him so angry that Deborah could be so damn difficult, yet still make him want to swoop down and press his lips against hers.

Just watching her now, being _allowed_ to watch her now, like this, it made his chest swell up with just how much he _loved_ her; and _god_ , did Martin love her, like nothing he had loved in his entire life, except perhaps flying, and even then, the two of them were so closely bound, that sometimes he couldn’t tell the difference.

And what made it worse was that the closer they got, the more comfortable Deborah became around him, first as his colleague, then as his friend, then as someone that would smile and tell him he was doing a good job, talk to him about planes, listen patiently for him to collect his thoughts, allow him to see her without all of the bluster she wore around other people, that let him _see_ that she was frightened of thunder, even if she didn’t say it…each little thing just made her that much more beautiful to look at…

…and it made Martin _ache_ with how much he loved her.

Because watching her now, it was so obvious how vulnerable Deborah was, even if Martin would never dare to mention it to her; he really _did_ want to look after her, he couldn’t help it, be that physically, emotionally…financially…

Deborah was a strong woman, there was no denying that; she had survived countless failed relationships, and being so far away from her daughter. But she wasn’t tough, not like she pretended to be, and it may have taken a long time to see that, but once he had, Martin couldn’t let it go.

It wasn’t that she was a hypocrite, complaining when she was teased, or when the crew made fun of her, picked on her; Martin had realised recently, when they had started spending more time together, that Deborah was more thin-skinned than he had thought, and that some of the things they said really got to her. If she failed, she didn’t get up and try again (Martin had been shocked when she had told him once that she admired his seven tries); no, if Deborah failed, she brushed herself down and went to do something else instead.

She wasn’t tough…she just didn’t talk about things that upset her.

In the distance, there was another faint grumble of thunder, which spurred Martin into action; he turned reluctantly from his vigil, and began rooting around for mugs and coffee. The weather wasn’t so bad that they couldn’t fly, but it might come back; they would need to be at the airfield either way.

Normally he would feel bad about using her food, but he had started contributing to her shopping bill, even joining her occasionally, so Martin felt fractionally better about using her coffee and sneaking a biscuit or two, before turning back to trace his eyes over the curves of her waist.

Just thinking about bills added a sour splash to his mood, as he leaned back against the counter and waited for the kettle to boil, shifting his arm when the hot steam began to dampen his elbow; he loved her so much…but every now and then he’d stumble over that one subject that felt like it could turn into a gulf between them.

Martin knew that he made far less money than Deborah, and he refused to feel like he was scrounging off of her for even a moment; he was a fully grown man, the captain of an airline, and he could support himself.

Hell, he should be able to support his partner as well! What good was he as a boyfriend, what good was he in Deborah’s life, if he couldn’t pull his weight? It frustrated him to know end, but things didn’t need to change between them; they were happy.

But Deborah couldn’t understand, she blamed it on his _pride_ , criticised him and told him to just forget it – but he _couldn’t_! It wasn’t pride, it was just an aching need to be good enough, and Martin didn’t care what she said, he wasn’t, not yet, and he refused to move forwards in their relationship when he couldn’t provide for them. It wasn’t his pride…it wasn’t.

That was where the problems lay…because Deborah didn’t understand, and every time she brought up that he shouldn’t be spending on her, or that they should move in together, make things easier, it made him want to tear his own throat out because he just couldn’t do that yet! Martin could barely afford to take her on a date once a month, and it made him so mad at himself, that he was even irritated by _her_ for caring about that.

Deborah didn’t understand. But she did love him, there was no doubt about that. And she meant everything she said, he knew.

But that was exactly the problem, Martin thought, as he watched Deborah grumble in her sleep, then fling her arm across her waist as if to roll over, then stop, as if the energy had left her; she was probably unconsciously missing the solid weight beneath her.

That was the problem, because even though she mentioned it every now and then, Deborah barely spoke about their financial situations, and she only spoke about moving in together every now and then, when things were good, and when Martin cut her off (and he only half meant it, he just couldn’t help be irritated by the whole ordeal), she shut up, and didn’t talk about it for weeks.

Because there it was – that little hub of vulnerability that she only Martin seemed to be able to see; probably because she let him. If Deborah wasn’t talking about it, and was behaving as if everything were jolly good fun, then it was bothering her, bothering her enough that she’d wait a bit, and then bring it up again later.

Damn, Martin loved her even more then, loved that she felt so deeply about it, but at the same time he hated himself for making her suffer over it…but it would be alright in the long term. Once he was better funded, better able to look after them both (even if Deborah _could_ look after herself), then all of it would be worth it, because he wanted _so much_ to start building his life around her.

But not yet; not while he was so pissed off with his own inadequacies that he was growing annoyed at the woman he loved for overlooking them. It was ironic really; when they had met Deborah had annoyed him by pointing out everything he did wrong, now he lived for the moments that she actually teased him.

Life would be so much easier if the two of them could just fly GERTI forever, and never have to worry about money, or what people thought about their match, or anything…

The kettle dinged, and Martin jumped slightly, lifting his elbow into the air and ducking his head to see where the noise had come from; he had completely forgotten that he had set it to boil. Typical, he thought; Martin snuck one last glance across the room, letting a small smile tug at his lips as Deborah began to shift in larger, arcing movements, before turning his back on the sitting room to pour coffee into two mugs, decision made.

They didn’t need to worry about anything now, everything was fine.

A pair of warm hands sliding around his waist made Martin startle, and he almost sloshed the hot coffee over his hand as Deborah sidled up beside him, wrapping her arms around him so that she could press a light kiss to the ridge of his shoulder, then cuddle into his side, ducking until she was looped underneath one arm.

“Oh, Deborah I - I didn’t hear you wake up.” Martin remarked, placing one mug down so that he could hold her closer; peering down at her, it wasn’t difficult to see that she was barely awake at all, still blinking hard against the light, “Coffee?”

“Hmmm…” Deborah hummed in what could have been acceptance, or a general agreement on the wonderfulness of coffee; she seemed much more preoccupied with scrunching her face up, patting at his chest for attention, and squinting up to meet his gaze, as she murmured sleepily, “Has it stopped thundering?”

Martin opened his mouth, then exhaled slowly, his smile reasserting itself over the rest of his face as a swell of affection filled his chest and made his fingertips fizzle; he hugged her closer, and took a sip of his coffee, deciding not to mention that he could still just about hear rumbling far, far in the distance.

He’d keep that a secret, let her be cheerful for a little while longer, before he made her get dressed and go to work at what she called an atrocious time in the morning, and before she started scheming on the flight, if they even had one, and before she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to be afraid of thunder storms.

“Yep, no thunder anywhere near here.” Martin answered brightly, “Nothing but sunshine for miles around.”

As the biggest storm of the year hits Fitton, the crew of MJN wait for it to pass, and cope in their own ways; after all, thunder and lightning can incite joy, fear, and love for those that aren't there


End file.
